For several seconds after Officer Morales finished speaking, nobody in Walter Fleming’s office said anything.
The forged paternity report seemed to settle over the room more heavily than the eighteen-million-dollar trust, Gabriel’s assault, or Connor’s disappearance.
Walter stared at the desk.
Kenneth recovered first.
“Officer, when was the report created?”
“We’re still determining that.”
“Printed or electronic?”
“Printed copy recovered from a locked drawer.”
“Any indication who prepared it?”
“Not yet.”
“Was Connor’s name on it?”
“As the tested father.”
“And Noah?”
“As the child.”
“Melinda?”
“Listed as mother.”
Kenneth paced toward the window.
“Does the document contain specimen dates?”
“Yes.”
I looked up.
“What dates?”
Morales hesitated.
“I can’t give you the entire evidentiary record.”
“Then tell me whether the alleged collection happened before or after Noah’s birth.”
“After.”
“Hospital collection?”
“No.”
“Private laboratory?”
“The report claims home collection followed by laboratory verification.”
That immediately bothered me.
“Verified how?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Look at the report.”
Morales went quiet.
Paper rustled on his end.
“What exactly am I looking for?”
“Chain-of-custody language.”
Another pause.
“It says identity was verified through government identification provided at collection.”
“Then it contradicts itself.”
Kenneth stopped pacing.
Morales asked, “How?”
“A home collection can be legitimate for informational testing, but if this document claims formal identity verification and legal chain of custody, there should be a documented collector or supervised collection process.”
More paper moved.
“There’s a collector name.”
“What name?”
“I can’t disclose it yet.”
“Is there a certification number?”
Silence.
Then Morales said, “Yes.”
“Verify it.”
Kenneth looked at me.
I shrugged.
It was the kind of inconsistency a physician learned to notice automatically. Medical paperwork was repetitive because traceability mattered.
Morales thanked me and ended the call after repeating that I should not return home.
Walter remained motionless.
I looked at him.
“You believed this report existed.”
“Yes.”
“Connor told you it proved Noah was his.”
“Yes.”
“Did he show you anything?”
“A photograph.”
“Of the report?”
Walter nodded.
“When?”
“Shortly after Noah was born.”
“So the forged document may be a year old.”
“Possibly.”
Kenneth returned to the table.
“Did Connor send the photograph electronically?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have it?”
Walter reached for his phone.
Lydia interrupted.
“Before you produce anything, we need to discuss privilege and scope.”
Walter gave her a tired look.
“My son may have fabricated a DNA report to secure eighteen million dollars.”
“I understand.”
“Then scope can wait five minutes.”
She clearly disagreed but stopped arguing.
Walter searched old messages.
His thumb moved slowly.
Then stopped.
“There.”
He handed the phone to Kenneth.
I watched Kenneth enlarge the image.
“Same laboratory?”
Walter nodded.
“Looks like it.”
Kenneth photographed the screen with his own phone.
“Send the original to Lydia. She can preserve it properly.”
Walter did.
I moved closer.
“May I see?”
Kenneth showed me.
The photograph captured only the upper half of the document.
Connor Fleming.
Noah Travis-Fleming.
Probability of Paternity: 99.99%.
The percentage sat prominently beneath a laboratory logo.
I studied the page.
Something bothered me.
Not the percentage.
Not the logo.
The formatting.
“What?” Kenneth asked.
“I don’t know.”
I enlarged the photograph.
Walter watched.
“You see something.”
“Maybe.”
The report listed Noah’s date of birth.
March 2.
Below it was a sample collection date.
March 16.
Two weeks after birth.
I stared at it.
“That seems early,” Kenneth said.
“Not impossible.”
“Then what?”
I enlarged the address beneath the laboratory name.
Indianapolis collection site.
The street address looked familiar.
“Give me a minute.”
I searched the address on my phone.
The result appeared.
The building had once housed a diagnostic collection center.
Once.
I opened archived business information.
“This location closed three years ago.”
Kenneth leaned closer.
“The report is dated last year.”
“Yes.”
Walter’s expression hardened.
“So Connor used an old address.”
“Whoever made this did.”
That distinction mattered.
Kenneth immediately sent the information to Morales.
Walter rose from his chair.
“I need to find Connor.”
“No,” Kenneth said.
Walter looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Police need to find Connor.”
“He is my son.”
“And currently a person police want to question regarding an assault, a fraudulent document and possibly witness intimidation.”
“You think I don’t understand that?”
“I think being his father makes you particularly bad at understanding it.”
Walter’s face went rigid.
Lydia stood.
“Enough.”
Kenneth did not move.
“I’ve spent a year cleaning up the legal consequences of Connor’s dishonesty. I’m not interested in watching another Fleming solve this privately.”
Walter looked toward me.
Perhaps he expected support.
He found none.
“Kenneth is right.”
His disappointment surprised me.
“You think I would help him escape?”
“I think you’ve helped him avoid consequences before.”
That landed.
Walter turned away.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I have.”
The admission removed the fight from the room.
My phone vibrated.
Melinda.
I showed Kenneth.
He nodded.
I answered.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Still with the person from last night?”
“Yes.”
“Police found Gabriel.”
“I heard.”
“He’s alive.”
“I know.”
Her voice shook.
“Kirsten, Connor called me.”
Everyone in the office went still.
“When?”
“Five minutes ago.”
“From his phone?”
“Blocked number.”
“What did he say?”
“He wants Noah.”
Walter closed his eyes.
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said this had gone far enough and I needed to bring Noah to him.”
“Where?”
“He wouldn’t tell me until I agreed.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“He sounded strange.”
“How?”
“Calm.”
I understood why that frightened her.
Connor’s shouting had always been easier to manage than his calm.
“Did he mention Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That Gabriel was lying.”
“Anything about what happened to him?”
“He said Gabriel staged everything.”
Kenneth wrote it down.
“Did Connor mention Raymond Vale?”
“No.”
“His father?”
“No.”
“Me?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Walter looked at me.
“What did he say?”
“That you started this because you couldn’t stand seeing him happy.”
I almost smiled.
Even now, Connor needed me to remain the center of his explanation.
“What else?”
“He said you poisoned me against him.”
“That’s enough.”
“No. There was something else.”
I waited.
“He asked whether I had talked to Walter.”
Walter leaned toward the phone.
I raised a hand to stop him.
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Did he believe you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he ask next?”
“Whether Walter had mentioned the trust.”
Kenneth and I exchanged a look.
“So he knows the trust is part of this.”
“Yes.”
Melinda began crying quietly.
“Kirsten, I didn’t know.”
“About the money?”
“No.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised her into silence.
“Why?”
“Because if you had known, you would have understood why Connor was so desperate to control paternity.”
She inhaled sharply.
“I thought he wanted Noah because he loved him.”
“He may.”
The room became uncomfortable.
Walter looked down.
I continued.
“People can love someone and still behave terribly when fear and money are involved.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Follow your lawyer’s advice.”
“I hired one.”
“Good.”
“She wants an independent DNA test.”
That was inevitable.
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’m terrified.”
“Of what?”
Her answer came immediately.
“That Gabriel is Noah’s father.”
No one spoke.
Then she whispered, “And I’m terrified Connor isn’t.”
The distinction mattered.
One fear concerned biology.
The other concerned the collapse of the life she had built.
“Whatever the result is, Noah will still be Noah.”
“I know.”
“Remember that.”
Walter turned toward the window.
Melinda said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“The old pregnancy.”
My attention sharpened.
“What about it?”
“I lied to Gabriel.”
“In what way?”
“It didn’t end naturally.”
I closed my eyes.
Walter turned back.
“What happened?”
“I terminated it.”
Her voice cracked.
“I was afraid.”
“Did Connor know?”
“Yes.”
“Did he pressure you?”
“No.”
That answer sounded genuine.
“Then why hide it?”
“Because Gabriel wanted children someday. I knew if I told him the truth, I’d have to explain Connor.”
“And you weren’t ready.”
“No.”
“Did Connor go with you?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
Connor’s involvement explained the timeline.
“What happened afterward?”
“He became obsessed with whether the baby had been his.”
“And that led to the fertility specialist.”
“I think so.”
“Did he tell you the result?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“He said the doctor told him everything was basically fine.”
Another lie.
“When you became pregnant with Noah, did you tell Connor about Gabriel immediately?”
Silence.
“No.”
“When?”
“After Connor proposed.”
That surprised me.
“He proposed before Noah was born?”
“Privately.”
I had not known.
“When did you tell him?”
“About three months into the pregnancy.”
“What happened?”
“He disappeared for two days.”
“And then?”
“He came back with a DNA testing brochure.”
Walter gripped the edge of his desk.
I leaned forward.
“What kind of brochure?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did you ever complete a test?”
“No.”
The room went completely still.
“Never?”
“No.”
“But Connor told Walter there was one.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did he ever collect Noah’s saliva?”
“Not with me present.”
“Did anyone?”
“No.”
My pulse accelerated.
Then the fake report was not merely altered.
The entire test had been invented.
Melinda began breathing quickly.
“Kirsten?”
“I’m here.”
“If there was never a test…”
“Don’t jump ahead.”
“But he told everyone—”
“I know.”
A knock sounded on Walter’s office door.
His assistant entered.
“Mr. Fleming, there are detectives here.”
Walter nodded.
“Send them in.”
Officer Morales entered with another detective.
His eyes moved from Walter to Kenneth and finally to me.
“We verified the collector certification.”
“And?”
“The number belongs to a real technician.”
“Did that person collect Noah’s sample?”
“No.”
Morales placed a photograph on the desk.
The technician’s name had been typed beneath the signature line.
“Someone stole his credentials?”
“Possibly.”
Kenneth pointed at the signature.
“Can you identify who created the document?”
“We found metadata on an electronic version.”
“Electronic version?”
Morales nodded.
“A copy was recovered from Connor’s computer.”
My stomach tightened.
“What metadata?”
“The document originated from another machine.”
“Whose?”
“We’re tracing it.”
“But you have something.”
Morales looked toward Walter.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The user account that created the original file was labeled RVale.”
Walter sat down.
Raymond Vale.
Melinda was still on speaker.
She heard the name.
“Oh God.”
Morales continued.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“The document was created eleven months ago.”
“After Noah’s birth.”
“Yes.”
“And Connor received it?”
“Within minutes.”
Walter looked sick.
“So Vale fabricated the report for Connor.”
“That is one possibility.”
“What's another?”
“That Vale created it independently and Connor later used it.”
I did not believe that.
Neither did Kenneth.
Morales turned toward me.
“Dr. Sinclair, you should know we’ve also identified the location in the photograph sent to you yesterday.”
“The picture of Melinda?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“A parking lot near a motel off Interstate 65.”
Melinda made a startled sound.
“I was there.”
“Why?”
“The person helping me took me there before we moved somewhere else.”
Morales’s expression sharpened.
“Who is helping you?”
She went silent.
“Ms. Travis, we need the name.”
“I promised I wouldn’t say.”
“This person may be connected to whoever photographed you.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she hates Connor.”
She.
I looked at Walter.
He frowned.
“Who?”
Melinda exhaled.
“Connor’s mother.”
Walter went completely motionless.
I had not seen Evelyn Fleming in nearly two years.
She and Walter had divorced when Connor was twenty-three and rarely appeared in the same room afterward.
“What does Evelyn know?” Walter asked.
Melinda heard him.
“You're there?”
“Yes.”
“I didn't know.”
“What does Evelyn know?”
“Everything.”
Walter stood.
“That is impossible.”
“No,” Melinda said. “She said she's been waiting years for Connor to make one mistake she could prove.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
“What mistake?” I asked.
Melinda hesitated.
Then answered.
“The money.”
Kenneth looked at Walter.
“What money?”
Melinda continued.
“Not the money sent to Gabriel.”
Walter’s face changed.
“Then what?”
“The money Connor took from Kirsten.”
I stopped breathing.
Melinda whispered, “Evelyn says she knows where he hid the rest of it.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Connor’s Mother Had Kept Records for Years, and What She Showed Me Turned My Divorce Into Only One Piece of His Fraud
The Morning My Ex-Husband Tried to Humiliate Me in a Hospital Hallway and Misread the Calm on My Face
Part 9 of 35
